


5 Times Kira and Malia Danced Together (and 1 Time They Did a Little More)

by FreshBrains



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Animalistic, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Disney Songs, F/F, Fast Food, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Full Moon, House Party, Humor, McCall Pack, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 04, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I taught Kira how to dance.  It was fun.  And then we got to hit people.”</p><p>Or the one where Malia learns how to be human, Kira is continually embarrassed by everything, Stiles is the founder of the Malia Tate Fan Club, Scott is the best alpha he can be under the strangest circumstances, and Lydia appoints herself co-alpha because these kids are hopeless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mexico

**Author's Note:**

> Started after 4x01, so we have little!Derek, but anything after that is up for speculation, because who the hell knows where canon is going.

The ride back to Beacon Hills in Stiles’ jeep is eerily quiet, seeing as Scott and Stiles are usually arguing about which _Star Trek_ series is better, Malia usually has to point out every single bird she sees and tell every uninterested passenger what type it is, and Lydia usually has to snap at everyone to shut up because she has a migraine.

But Derek Hale is seventeen years old again and it’s causing tension. 

Malia leans over into Kira’s space, even though all the girls are squished in the backseat together with zero personal room.  “Kira,” she whispers urgently.

Kira keeps her head forward, avoiding Malia’s intense gaze.  “Yeah, Malia?”

Malia scoots impossibly closer, her side pressed completely against Kira’s, her lips directly next to Kira’s ear.  “I have a question.”

“Sweetie,” Lydia says, leaning over to look at Malia over Kira, “there are two wolves, a fox, and a banshee in this vehicle.  No matter how low you talk, we’re all going to hear it.”

“I might not,” Stiles offers, giving Malia a supportive thumbs-up from the driver’s seat.

Malia ignores everyone and continues staring urgently at Kira.  “Kira.  I have a question.  When we saw Derek Hale last…” she points to Derek, like Kira doesn’t know who she’s referring to, “he was _older._ I think something’s wrong.”  Her voice was so earnest that Kira could only pity her.

“Oh, hon,” Lydia says, reaching over to pat Malia on the leg. 

Stiles rubs his temples, hands white on the steering wheel.  “You’re right, he was older.  He was like…twenty-something and all muscly and cranky, and this one is currently pocket-sized and sleeping on my shoulder.”  He nods down to where the kid is fast asleep, snoring gently.  “And even though we all like to pretend to know what the hell is going on in most of the time, none of us know how it happened.”

“Kate Argent,” Kira supplies, patting Malia on the arm, though she has no idea who Kate is and she just committed the Beacon Hills Supernatural Committee version of name-dropping.

Malia nods sagely, looking out the window.  “Alright.  I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me.”

“No, we’re all in this together,” Scott says, the first thing he’s said all night.  Kira loves that it’s something sweet, something optimistic—they may be miserable and confused, but they _are_ together, and Kira also appreciates the High School Musical reference.  It’s one of her favorite movies.  “You guys all really helped back there.  We make a good team.”

Kira turns to smile at Malia, and Malia smiles back, always easy and sweet despite how angry she always looks.  It’s a little disconcerting.  “I taught Kira how to dance.  It was fun.  And then we got to hit people.”

“I saw the hitting part,” Scott says, turning around.  “I didn’t see the dancing part, though.”

Kira laughs, a little embarrassed.  “I’m not exactly a natural.  I’m too awkward.”  She can’t remember the last time she ever _needed_ to dance—she was a wallflower at school dances, and she was more the dramatic-lip-syncing type than the crazy-alone-dance type.  She’s used to making herself smaller, quieter, not drawing attention.  And while the kitsune made her a better fighter, it did little for her gracefulness.

“You were fine,” Malia assures.  “You must’ve really liked it, you smelled super happy.”  She leans in again, close enough for her hair to tickle Kira’s neck, and whispers, “happy, like, _sexually_.”

Kira turns fast to look at Malia but Malia doesn’t budge, so they’re just sitting staring at each other’s noses from a two-inch space, both wide-eyed and alarmed—Malia because she usually looks like that, Kira because _Malia just told everyone how she got totally wet on the dance floor for her_.

The car returned to its former silence, the only sound coming from the wind whipping through the open window. 

Lydia looks straight forward but her mouth is set in a tight line like all she wants to do is laugh.  Scott clears his throat.  Stiles whistles merrily along with the radio before Scott turns it off.

“She’s just,” Kira says, her face on fire, “a _really_ good dancer, okay?”

“Must’ve been,” Lydia murmurs.  “You got a wettie on the dancefloor?  _Damn_ , Kira, I didn’t think you were wired that way.”

Kira groans, letting her head fall back on the headrest.  “You guys are killing me.  I can’t, like, help it.  She looked really good in her shorts…and she moved so fast, and her hands were so nice.”  She covers her face with her hands, wanting to escape out the sun roof.  “It’s natural to be turned on when you’re that close to someone.”  Someone as pretty and sweet and tough as Malia, who smelled like springtime, whose hands felt like lighting on the small of Kira’s back…

“Thank you,” Malia says, still staring at Kira.  “When I was in the hospital they made me try boxing.  It helps with the human footwork, and dancing is the same.”  She sits up, talking with her hands, excited to finally know more about something than everyone else.  “Really, all animals could be good dancers.  It’s all about what to do with your body in relation to the world around you.”

Stiles nods, obviously impressed. 

“She’s right,” a sleepy voice says from between Scott and Stiles, and everyone jumps.  Derek is barely awake, but his eyes are open.  “My mom is a good dancer.  She’s an alpha, you know.  Like Scott.”  He looks over at Scott, eyes full of reverence, and Scott looks a little like he wants to jump out of the jeep and do a tuck-and-roll into the desert. 

“Derek, don’t panic, but you’re seventeen years old again.” Malia holds her hands up like she’s breaking some bad news.  Stiles sighs, long-suffering.

For the second time that night, Lydia reaches across Kira’s lap to pat Malia’s leg and say, “Oh, hon.”

Derek closes his eyes again, resting against Stiles’ shoulder.  “I’m so tired.”  He’s snoring in no time, and the entire car exhales.  They still don’t know if Derek is seventeen in every way, or just disoriented, or just super tired.  They know absolutely nothing.

It’s quiet for a long time again until Stiles says, “So Malia must be a really, _really_ good dancer.”

Lydia grins wickedly and looks at Malia.  “I bet you’re still turned on over there.  Scott, can you smell it?”

“Psh, _no_ ,” Scott says, face bright red.

“I definitely can,” Derek murmurs, eyes still closed, and everyone jumps again.

Kira groans and pulls her hood over her eyes.


	2. Kira's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just fluff. Fun fluff, a little Malia exposition. 
> 
> And _The Little Mermaid._

“You have a nice bedroom,” Malia says, standing in the doorway, wringing her hands.  “It’s so purple.  Do you like purple?”

“Yes?” Kira says, though it sounds more like a question.  Malia has the habit of asking questions like she’s interrogating a suspect.  Kira doesn’t really mind, it keeps her on her toes.  “I just redecorated, actually.”

Malia steps inside the room, cautious and slow, like she’s expecting a den of foxes to come out and attack her.  “Who is that?” She points to the poster on Kira’s wall.

“That’s Captain Marvel,” Kira says, smiling at her favorite decoration.  “She’s sort of my hero.”

“Does Scott know her?”  Malia gingerly sits on the edge of Kira’s bed, running her hands along the fabric.  “Stiles has a hero too, her name is Catwoman.”

Kira laughs and sits on the opposite side of the bed.  “They’re comic book characters.  They’re not really real.”  She pulls her legs onto the bed, curling like a pretzel.  “Did you ever see _Batman Forever_ when you were little?  With the leather and crazy costumes and stuff?”

Malia thinks for a second, nose scrunched in concentration.  “Plant lady.  There was a plant lady.”

Kira laughs, feeling an odd tug of tenderness towards Malia.  “Poison Ivy.  See, there you go.  Stuff is coming back.”

Malia nods, still on edge, still hyper-aware of the room.  “It is.  Sometimes I’m still confused, and then I feel stupid.  You and Stiles are the only ones who don’t treat me like a baby.”

Kira frowns.  She _wants_ to help Malia, she feels like she owes it to the other girl—they both have become involved in something so much bigger than themselves, so much bigger than just wolves and coyotes.  Kira has Scott but she also has her mother, who knows about _everything_ , and a history teacher for a father.  They also know about the supernatural world, so, dodged a bullet there. 

Malia has a father insane with grief and shock, a maybe-father who’s just plain _insane_ , and the mind of a girl who used to be a coyote who used to be a girl.

Besides, she likes Malia, she really does.  Malia’s blunt honesty tends to bother Lydia and worry Stiles, but Kira understands and appreciates it.  It’s all Malia knows, that pure way of existing in the world.  Be true or die.  It makes sense.  And Malia is learning how to accustom herself to the human world again; she’s certainly not hopeless.  Kira likes being by her side.

She also tries not to make Malia feel like she’s being babysat.  She’s difficult to pin down, development-wise, which can be difficult and embarrassing for her—she can read at an average level (“I saw, like, _signs_ andstuff”) and her math is alright (“I don’t really know how that happened, maybe I’m just a genius”).  She understands sports, simple board games, and how to use the microwave because she retained the logic and processing skills of an eight-year-old.  She’s perfectly capable of learning new things.  It doesn’t help that the school counselors and doctors don’t know the real reason behind Malia’s halted development, though they’re optimistic.

Some things are trickier, and that’s why Kira likes to stay close to her.  She found Malia crying in the girl’s bathroom the week before because she had an accident and ruined her jeans.  She was so distraught by the entire thing, Kira was worried she’d coyote-out right there, so she made a split decision and wiggled out of her leggings to give to Malia, opting for just the skirt, even though it was a little short.  And a few days after that, Sheriff Stilinski found Malia sitting on his kitchen floor eating strips of raw bacon in a pair of Stiles’ boxers.

Since then, everyone kept a loving eye on Malia.  They just didn’t want _Malia_ to know.  They wanted her to experience the world as a human the way she needed to.

“Do you have movies?”  Malia whips her head around to look at Kira.  Kira tries not to startle and fails.  “Cartoons?”

Kira leans over to dig beneath her bed.  “Sure, I have a few.  What do you want to watch?”

Malia shrugs, lying back on Kira’s bed.  “I remember one from when I was really little.  My mom liked it, too.  There was a fat yellow fish and an octopus lady, and a pretty girl with red hair.”

“ _The Little Mermaid_!  I have that one.”  Kira grabs the DVD and moves to pop it into her laptop, but Malia shakes her head.

“Let me do it.  I want to see if I can.” 

Kira hands the disc over, hoping the claws won’t come out, and Malia takes a few minutes before turning on the computer, opening the disc tray, and starting the movie.  She’s a little slow, like she’s calculating her every move, but when she’s done, she beams at Kira.

“Perfect,” Kira says, and can’t help but smile.

*

Malia likes to move.  Or, rather, she hates _not_ moving.

“This is such a good movie,” she says, voice muffled.  She’s overturned, doing an expert handstand against Kira’s bed, her hair splayed out on the carpet.  “I forgot if Ariel gets her voice back, though, so I’m sort of worried.”  Despite her worry, she’s endlessly cheerful.  She kicks her legs back and forth, heels thumping against Kira’s pillows.

Kira sits with her legs crossed on the floor next to Malia, idly braiding a strand of Malia’s hair and tying it with a little blue band. 

Suddenly, the music cues change onscreen, and Malia tucks down and rolls off her hands, landing on her ass.  Her hair is swept forward in a crazy lion’s mane around her face.  Her face is stern and she hisses, “Kira.  Kira, I know this song.”

Kira nods slowly, waiting for Malia’s reaction.  “Yep.  It’s called ‘Kiss the Girl.’”

Malia stands, body firm and proud, like she’s ready to go into battle.  “I’m going to sing and dance along.”  She holds out a hand to Kira, who just stares at it.  “Since you liked it so much last time, we’re going to do it again.”

Kira’s face reddens, remembering the night in Mexico, the feeling of Malia’s smile against her neck, her sweaty hands twining through her hair.  “Are you sure? ”

Malia rolls her eyes and Kira makes a point to speak to Stiles about his influence on that habit.  “Get up and sing with me, I’m rusty.”

Kira sighs.  “Okay, okay.”  She grabs Malia’s hand.  “Just for a little bit, okay?”

*

“ _Sha-la-la-la-la-la don’t be scared, you better be prepared, go on and KISS THE GIRL_!”  They aren’t so much singing as screaming, so much dancing as flailing together, and Kira is laughing so hard she has tears running down her cheeks.  For being a lovely dancer, Malia is a terrible singer, and she looks like a sick whale when she leans back and squeezes her eyes shut, belting out the lyrics as loud as she can.

Kira can’t remember the last time she’s had so much fun.  “ _Don’t stop now, don’t try to hide it now…_ ” she shakes her hips, pointing at Malia.

“ _GO ON AND KISS THE GIRL!”_   Malia waves her arms, her one stray braid whipping across her face, and they join hands, jumping around the carpet in their socks together like toddlers.  Malia moves quickly, jerking Kira around, and Kira moves with agility and swiftness, like some sort of cool 80’s robot (she’d like to think that, at least).

“I love this movie,” Malia says again, and trips on the edge of Kira’s purple rug, flying into Kira and sending them both onto the floor in a heap of giggles, the movie still playing behind them.  Malia leans over Kira, their chests heaving, their cheeks rosy, and says, “You smell happy again.  And not the sex happy.  Just…” she laughs, ducking her head so Kira won’t see her face, “happy-happy.”

“I am happy,” Kira says, smiling up at Malia.  “You make me happy, you big nerd.”


	3. House Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia likes parties, Kira likes beer pong, Stiles like techno, and Scott likes one night of things not being a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive feedback, everyone!

“So our entire pack has been alive for months.  Derek is a fully-grown adult again.  Stiles’ jeep hasn’t broken down.  And yesterday, Malia used the washing machine _to wash clothes_.  Kira, this is like our best run _ever_.  We deserve a little break.”  Scott lounges on the front steps of Kira’s house, looking way too adorable for his own good in his leather jacket and ratty jeans.  Every time Kira sees him, she just wants to smoosh his face and sit in his lap.

“Yeah, but…a house party?” Kira wrinkles her nose, picking at some peeling paint on the porch.  “Stiles told me his childhood friend died at one of those last year.  Isn’t that kind of like tempting fate?”

Scott sighs.  “Yeah, maybe.  But that was because of Jennifer, and she’s gone because we’re an awesome pack and we defeated her, right?” Scott beams.

“I thought Derek’s creepy uncle killed her,” Kira says, patting Scott’s knee.

Scott cheerfully waves her comment away.  “Yeah, but we did some stuff too.  Look, I hate to pull the alpha card, but I’m a surprisingly affective alpha considering this is Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah, Scotty, we were all surprised,” Stiles says, bounding out of Kira’s house with a handful of her mother’s homemade brownies in one hand and a pitcher of green tea in the other, letting the screen door slam.  “Kira, your mom is the bomb.  I think she babies me a little, though, after the whole possession thing.”

Kira’s mom has a soft spot for Stiles, and maybe it does have a little bit to do with the possession thing.  “I’m not surprised you’re a true alpha, Scott.  You’re a wonderful leader.”  She stands up, dusting off the butt of her galaxy-print leggings.  “I just don’t think a house party is the best idea.”  She wanders to the front lawn and slides her legs through the tire swing, a new addition her dad put in when they moved in.

Stiles looks at Scott, mouth stuffed with a brownie.  “Dude, what?  House party?  Where?  Who?”

Scott grimaces, wiping brownie spit off his cheek.  “Uh, Caitlin’s, actually.”

Stiles gives him a weird look.  “I didn’t know you two were chums.”

“It was on Facebook,” Scott says.  “We’re Facebook friends.  That’s not weird.”

“Didn’t you make out with her once, Stiles?” Kira bites into her brownie as she kicks off the ground, setting off spinning towards the tree.

“Yeah, but now she’s dating Danielle.”  Stiles takes a gulp of tea.  “That actually worked out a lot better than the last time I kissed one of Danielle’s friends.”  He scratches the back of his neck, obviously trying to look nonchalant while hiding his sadness.

Kira opens her mouth to say something encouraging and Scott does the same, an obnoxious bike horn sounds from down the street, cutting them off.  Kira cranes her neck, still spinning around on the swing.  “Is that Malia?  On a bike?”

Stiles waves.  “Hey, Malia!  Looking good!”

Malia brings up one hand to wave as she rolls up on a battered blue bicycle, her body gold and tan in her patriotic short-shorts and blue tank top.  _Those shorts make me want to be a better American_ , Kira thinks, and accidentally spins right into the tree.

“Hey guys!  I found Kira’s house without smelling for it, just like you asked, right Scott?” Malia rambles up the driveway and into the lawn.

Scott nods.  “Nice job!  See, it’s not too hard.  Did you use the directions I gave you?”

“No, I listened for you guys,” Malia says, eyes widening as she loses her balance and veers into a bush.

Scott stands, looking between Kira struggling for control of the tire swing and Malia scratching her way out of the bushes.  “I feel like I’m being tested.  Alpha-tested.”

Stiles stands, wiping his hands on his jeans.  “I’ll get Malia.”

Malia pops her head up, hair tangled with twigs and leaves.  “Did I hear something about a party?”

*

“So, since Scott is effectively useless at anything that is not kindness, sunshine, and rainbows, I’m going to sit your weird asses down and teach you a little something about how to act at a party.”  Lydia stands in front of Kira and Malia, who sit on Lydia’s giant plush purple bed like two chastised housecats.  Lydia towers over them, all artful red curls and sky-high heels, and Kira is only a little afraid of her.

“Scott is a very effective disciplinarian,” Kira says, frowning, ever the president of the We Love Our Alpha union.

“One time he gave me half his Subway sandwich because I peed in the backyard instead of the front where his mom could see,” Malia says.

Lydia stares at her for a moment.  “Oh god, you’re serious.  Okay.  Malia, my bathroom’s down the hallway if you need it.”

Malia nods.  “Don’t worry, I pee in toilets now.  It’s actually really nice.”

“I’ll have to try it some time,” Lydia said drily, and turns to Kira.  “Malia’s not the only one who needs help.  Sweetie, before Malia taught you how to move in Mexico, you looked like a sad Muppet on the dance floor.”

“Hey,” Kira says, blushing.  “I’m good at a lot of things, maybe dancing isn’t one of them.  Or, like, people.  Social situations.  Driving isn’t so good.  Also geography, surprisingly difficult for me.”

“Whatever,” Lydia says, waving her off.  “I’m going to go through three main points—appearance, flirting, etiquette.”

“I care about none of those things,” Malia says bluntly.  “Can we watch _Hemlock Grove_?”

“No.” Lydia heads towards her closet.  “I know this sounds stupid, and yeah, a lot of its all just high school fake garbage.  But that stuff helps, especially when we’re around our non-supernatural friends.”

“But we don’t _have_ non-supernatural friends,” Kira argues, swallowing hard at the closet full of short skirts and glittery dresses.  “I only know you guys.”

Lydia tosses her a tiny silky orange dress with a bandeau top.  “I know, and after the whole Lydia-screams-all-the-time thing, _I_ only have you guys.”  She pauses, softening.  “I had Allison.  I miss having female friends to do this kind of stuff with, you know?”  She runs her hand over a black leather jacket hanging in the closet.

Kira drapes the dress over her arm and stands next to Lydia, looking into the closet.  “Do you, uh…do you have any shoes that would go with this?  Like those ones with the chunky wood heels?”

Lydia looks at Kira, giving her a soft smile.  “Yeah, I think I can find something.”  Then she frowns and looks down at her side.  “What is happening?”

Malia is kneeling on the floor, nuzzling her nose and cheek against Lydia’s palm while playing Candy Crush with one hand on Kira’s cell.  “I’m comforting you.  This is comfort.”

Lydia closes her eyes for a moment.  “Let’s move onto party etiquette, shall we?”

*

“Okay, eye contact, casual topics of conversation, laughing, dancing…” Kira ticks off Lydia’s list of flirting techniques on the ride over in Lydia’s little blue sports car like she’s studying for an exam.  “Malia, are you okay back there?”

Malia whines low in her throat, kicking her leg up onto the center console.  “I hate these.  These shoes will kill me.  They’ll kill us all.”

“But they look so pretty on you!”  Lydia is all decked out in a tiny purple shorts and a low-cut pink tank top, looking all summery and sweet, while Kira feels like a tiny tilting pumpkin in her dress and white heels.

“I feel like my boobs are going to fall out,” Malia says, pulling the fluttery top of her white cotton dress away from her body to look down the front.  “Coyotes never had to deal with strapless bras.”

“Okay, we’re carpooling to Caitlin’s with Stiles from here,” Lydia says, parking in front of Scott’s house next to Stiles’ jeep.  “Everyone get out in an orderly fashion.  Don’t hurt yourselves.”

“Hold onto me, Kira,” Malia says once she gets out from the backseat, extending a hand to Kira.  “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Kira’s heart flutters in her chest and she pretends she’s in a romantic comedy, but only for like a few seconds.  “Thank you, that’s very sweet.”

“Whoa, you guys all look amazing!” Stiles comes out of the house with Scott in tow.  Much to Kira’s chagrin, they’re both wearing the same cargo shorts and tee shirts they had on earlier.

“Why did we have to dress up if they don’t have to?” Malia whines, skinny arms wrapped around Kira’s waist like she’ll go ass-over-teakettle without being anchored to something.

“Because boys are silly,” Lydia says.  She tosses Scott her camera.  “Okay, huddle for a picture, ladies.  Kira, closer, there.  Malia, stop picking at your wedgie.  _No_ , you cannot take off your underwear.  Kira, if you stand like that, you’ll break an ankle.  _Malia get your hair out of Kira’s face_!”

Kira inhales slowly and thinks about the Netflix queue of British horror movies she handcrafted as a reward for later that night.

*

So, Kira’s really good at beer pong.  This is unexpected.

“Damn, girl,” Danny says with a low whistle, flexing his impressive biceps beneath his tee shirt a little bit for the cute guy eyeing both him and Kira in the corner.  “You’re a force to be reckoned with.  Are you, uh…?”  He holds his hands up like claws.

Kira laughs, blushing a little under his praise.  “No, but I’m similar.  Less teeth, more, uh…tails.”  She’s feeling warm and happy—and not from the minimal amount of alcohol she’d managed to sip during the game.  She never used to fit in with her peers; she was always too awkward or to shy, too out-of-touch.  But with the right people, she felt like she could be herself in Beacon Hills—and she wasn’t even using Lydia’s party tips.  “I’m a kitsune.  Trickster spirit.”

“Like a fox?”  Danny raises his eyebrows.

“Pretty much,” Kira says, wondering how this is her life.

Danny nods, impressed and unfazed.  “Nice.  Another round?”

“I love this song!” Stiles rushes by through the noisy hallway, hand-in-hand with Danielle, and they’re both shimmying along to whatever terrible techno remix is playing downstairs.  He backtracks and pokes his head into the rec room.  “You doing okay in here, Kira?”

She shoots him a thumbs-up.

“So,” Danny says, taking a sip of beer, “another game?”

“Sure,” Kira says.  She plucks a Ping-Pong ball from Danny’s cup and kicks her shoes off, abandoning them beneath the table.

*

Kira is a little tipsy, but not drunk, and it’s a nice feeling.  She’s got Danny on one side, his arm slung around her shoulders, and Scott on the other, totally sober but no less cheerful.  They’re sitting on the patio, sipping wine coolers and watching a group of people play a drunken game of tag on the back lawn (Stiles included).  Lydia is flirting with a tall guy next to a tree, curling her hair around her finger like a woodland fairy.

“This isn’t so bad,” Kira says to Scott, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Told you,” Scott says, playing idly with her hair.  “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Kira realizes she hasn’t seen Malia all night right up until she hears a guy yell from the living room, “ _Holy shit, this chick is wrecked_!”

Kira and Scott exchange a glance, and Kira shrugs out from under Danny’s arm.

“Hey, where’re you going?”  Danny’s eyes are hooded from drinking.

“Supernatural business,” Kira says, and follows Scott inside.

*

Malia is like a majestic drunk lion, all gold hair and strong muscles, if lions liked to dance on kitchen countertops with the hem of their dress tucked into their underwear.

Scott rubs a palm down his face.  “I’m a terrible alpha.”

Kira pushes him back out into the crowded living room.  “Let me deal with this.  It’ll be fine.”

Scott gives her a miserable look.  “We’re supposed to be taking care of her.  She’s _pack_.  And now she’s being humiliated.”

Kira raises an eyebrow.  “Scott, she’s a drunk girl making a fool of herself.  We’ve all suffered worse.”  She turns and straightens her shoulders.  _Okay, Coyote Ugly, here comes Kira to save your ass.  Please comply.  Where the hell is Lydia, isn’t this her job?_

Malia is sure-footed on the slippery counter surface, her arms raised above her head.  She tangles her fingers in her hair and lets it fall like a shimmering waterfall and she shakes her hips to the beat of the music.  She’s not sloppy, her dancing is as pretty and relaxed as it was in Mexico, but there’s something _wild_ in her eyes, something bordering on blazing blue, and Kira knows she has to get her off that counter _now_.

“Malia,” Kira shouts, shoving her way through the crowd of hollering partygoers.  “Malia, come on, let’s go outside and get some air.”

Malia’s face lights up when she sees Kira and she waves merrily, still wriggling around.  Her hips and thighs are bare, skin visible through the lace of her blue underwear, and she swishes the remaining hanging fabric of her skirt around her waist in a twirl.  “Hey Kira!  This is so much fun, come up and dance with me!”

Kira sighs.  “No, it’s time to go.  Here, I’ll help you down.”

And then, because things were going a little too well for Kira, Malia uses all her strength to pull Kira up onto the counter.  Kira stumbles and grasps at the bodice of her strapless dress, making sure it doesn’t slip down, and turns to face the crowd.

Everyone cheers and hollers.  “Hey, let’s see what you got, Yukimura!” 

 _I don’t even know who the hell that was,_ Kira things sourly, eyes wide.  She turns to Malia and grasps her forearms.  “Malia, come on, we need to get out of here.”

Malia wriggles away, laughing.  She shimmies closer to Kira and leans in to whisper in her ear, “Come on, let’s dance like in Mexico!  Let’s get _happy_ again!”

Kira is silent for a moment.  _Did she feel it too?  Did she feel that current between us, that spark that surges inside of me whenever something starts feeling too good to be true?_ She lets go of Malia’s arms like they burn her.  “Malia, you’re embarrassing yourself.”  She straightens Malia’s dress out, untucking the fluffy fabric from her underwear and settling it around her legs.  “We’re leaving, _now_.”

Malia frowns, edging away from Kira.  “Stop talking to me like that, you’re not my mother.  My mom is _dead_.”

Kira swallows hard, her face blazing in shame.  Malia was right—Kira was her friend, her friend whose job it was to _help_ her, not baby her.  “I know,” Kira says, gently helping Malia off the counter and steering her away from the booing crowd.  “I know, I’m sorry.  I just…” she twined her fingers around Malia’s.  “I just want to help.”  She reaches up, brushing Malia’s hair out of her eyes.  “You were starting to turn a little.  I didn’t want them to see your eyes.”  _They’re beautiful.  Too beautiful for a bunch of drunk guys._

Malia tilts her head, like she’s seeing Kira in a whole new light—which is _exactly_ what is happening.  “You’re orange,” she whispers, smiling.  She steps back. “You’re all orange and yellow and glowing.”  She grasps Kira’s hands and warmth spread between them, oozing and sweet, like sinking into a warm bath.  “It’s beautiful.”

Kira smiles back, holding fast to Malia’s hands.  “Let’s go outside, okay?”

*

The car ride home is quiet, only because everyone is exhausted.  Scott drives the jeep as Stiles dozes on Lydia’s shoulder, and Malia is curled into Kira’s side.  All the girls’ shoes are on in the drunk.  “’M tired,” Malia mumbles into Kira’s hair.

“Sleep,” Kira says.  “I’ll wake you up when we’re home.”

“Home,” Malia says, and makes a pleased noise low in her throat before falling asleep.


	4. The Boathouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia is unwilling, Kira hates the water, and Malia just wants a milkshake.
> 
> Little more angst in this chapter, but the fluff is forthcoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime after 4.04 "The Benefactor"

“I’m not sure I like Liam,” Malia says, kicking her sneaker-clad heels in the gravel path alongside Lydia’s lake house.

Kira frowns.  “Why not?  I mean, he’s having a rough time with the bite and everything, but he seems okay.”  She points at a yellow fuzzy caterpillar on the deck railing, a habit she’s picked up when with Malia—Malia knows everything about nature, and she’s always happy to scope out animals, insects, and plants.

Malia let the insect crawl onto her finger.  “I don’t really know.  I used to be the new one.  Now he is.  And you don’t have as much time for me.”

“Hey,” Kira says, wrapping a comforting arm around Malia’s waist.  “I’ll always have time for you.  So will Scott and Stiles and Lydia.  Okay?”

Malia shrugs.  “But it’s weird because I don’t _need_ your time.  I feel a lot better every day, and I’m learning a lot.  But I _want_ your time.”  Malia walks dejectedly, wrapping her arms around her own body in a tight hug.  “I’m selfish.”

Kira laughs, but cuts it off quickly, not wanting to embarrass Malia.  “Malia, that’s basically the definition of friendship.  It’s not selfish.  It means you like us, and we like you back.”  Kira veers them off onto a sunlit path by the lake, wanting to stay in the light, especially after the craziness the week before. 

Malia hums in approval, face scrunched in concentration.  “Are we girlfriends, Kira?”

Kira stumbles over a non-existent rock and clears her throat.  “I think it depends on how you define girlfriends.”

“Girlfriends is when you hold hands and dance together and make each other happy,” Malia says confidently.

 _Well, she’s not wrong._ “Sure, right, but some girlfriends do those things and they also kiss.  Is that something you’re interested in?”  She wasn’t sure where Malia, pretty, wild Malia with her muscles and smooth dancing and bravery, wanted to take their girl-friendship, or if Kira was even allowed to _want_ more.

Malia pauses, nose in the air, and slaps her hand against Kira’s boobs, holding her back.  Kira chooses to ignore the latter movement and stops, trusting Malia’s instincts.

“Is there something out there?”

Malia nods slowly, pointing towards the lake.  “Someone’s coming.”

“Shit,” Kira hisses.  “In the _water_?”  She’s _so_ not ready for water monsters, absolutely not.  She draws the line at water monsters.  Pikachu always lost in battles with water monsters, Kira isn’t taking any chances.

“It’s a boat,” Malia says, confused.  “Nobody else has a cabin on this bank.”

Kira sees a flash of light glinting off the sunny water and a dark form hunched over on a small speedboat, checking the engine.  The figure straightens out and Kira sees a leather jacket and a greying beard.  She smiles.  “It’s okay, Malia.  It’s Mr. Argent.  We’ll be okay.”  Malia relaxes, but keeps her hand on Kira’s chest, warm and solid.

“So,” Kira says.  “Is this one of those girlfriend things you’re interested in?”

Malia takes her hand down.  “Sorry.”

*

“We have a problem,” Chris says, setting his duffle bag on the kitchen table in Lydia’s cabin.  He’s alone—no Scott, no other hunters, no Derek, which is weird for Kira.  She’s not sure how decent it would look to an outsider, having what Lydia calls a “grade-A DILF” alone in a secluded lake house with three teenage girls.  But if they can trust any adults besides Melissa and the Sheriff, they can trust Chris Argent.

“No we don’t,” Lydia says firmly, hands on her hips.  “There’s no new problem.  We don’t have room for new problems.”

“I’m tired,” Malia says, resting her head on the table.  Kira rubs her back in slow, smooth circles.

“You need to worry about yourselves.  I’ll worry about the new problem,” Chris says, unpacking his duffel.  He’s got all the stuff Kira is used to seeing—guns, knives, bottles and cans of noxious stuff, all sorts of weapons used for killing creatures of the night.  “Liam is proving to be difficult as a beta, and Scott wants me to come with him, Stiles and Derek to a nearby pack for advice.  That means we’ll be gone for the full moon.”  He tosses a ring of keys on the table.  “Malia stays in the basement.  I need your word on this.”

Lydia frowns, hands in the air.  “Where did you get my keys, Mr. Argent?”

Chris inhales deeply through his nose.  “There’re Allison’s set.  I thought I’d return them.”  He grabs his much-lighter duffle and heads to the door.  “Be safe, girls.  Play it smart.”

“Wait,” Kira says, panic running through her mind.  “Stiles is always here for Malia’s full moon.  We don’t know how to deal with this!”

“We’ll be fine,” Lydia says, pinching Kira’s elbow.  “Don’t worry about us, Mr. Argent.”

*

Malia is crabby the day before the full moon, crabby and cuddly and whiny like a giant PMS-ing housecat.  Kira can deal just fine with that part; Lydia cannot.

“It’s like I want to throw up and eat at the same time,” Malia moans, face buried in Kira’s lap.  Kira strokes Malia’s hair, black-painted fingernails smoothing through the thick curls.  Malia fists the material of Kira’s hoodie, her fingers thankfully staying un-clawed.  “I want curly fries, Stiles always buys me curly fries before the moon.”

“I see he’s passing on his vile habits,” Lydia says, pacing in front of the door.

“I know, Malia,” Kira says, scratching at the baby hairs on the nape of Malia’s neck.  “Lydia will go get you something to eat before we go into the basement.”

Lydia pauses in her pacing, giving Kira a pointed look.  “Kira?  A word in the kitchen?”

Kira eases Malia off her lap.  “Here, why don’t you try to sleep a little,” she says, pulling a chenille throw over Malia’s shoulders.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Bring me a milkshake on your way back, okay?” Malia says with a yawn, curling up on the sofa with her knees by her chin.

Kira follows Lydia into the kitchen.  Lydia turns around on her heels, face grim.  “Look, I know you and Malia are like _girlfriends_ now, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be down there with her.”

“Okay, do you think we’re like girlfriend-girlfriends, or just friend-girlfriends?  Because I’ve been trying to figure that out all afternoon,” Kira says, exasperated.

Lydia rolls her eyes.  “God, I thought _you_ knew.  I was going to ask.”  She waves away with subject.  “Anyways, I think I should stay with her tonight.  I’ve stayed with Jackson, Aiden, and Scott during full moons, I know the drill.”

“Yeah, but…” Kira frowns, worrying her hands in her hoodie pocket.  “She’s, like, my _girl_ …you know?”

“So rarely do I know what’s going on with you people,” Lydia says.  “Just this time.  You can stay with her during the next one, when Stiles is back.  He’ll be better at teaching you how to deal with it.”

“Fine,” Kira says, sighing.

“I want a milkshake,” Malia whines.

“I’m going to go get her a fucking milkshake,” Lydia says, grabbing her car keys.  “You both better be here when I get back.”

*

Kira expects the whining and pouting and squirming, but when she tells Malia she won’t be staying with her in the basement during the full moon, she sure as hell doesn’t expect the _crying_.

“I don’t want Lydia down there,” Malia says, rubbing her tear-streaked cheek onto Kira’s shoulder.  “She yells at me.  She gets mad at me when I can’t hold back.”

Kira’s chest aches and she wraps an arm around Malia, holding her close.  “Lydia doesn’t get mad at you, Malia.  She gets mad because she wants to help…but sometimes she doesn’t know how.”  Lydia, in all of her beautiful prom-queen perfection, is infamous for being a total know-it-all—Kira isn’t ashamed to think it of her friend. 

“But you _do_ ,” Malia says, sobbing gently.  It isn’t angry, frustrated, childish crying—ever since Kira met Malia, she’d never heard her cry.  This is a tired sort of crying, an “I’m finished” crying.  “You and Stiles are the only ones that understand.  I _need_ you down there with me.”

Kira feels an itch in her palms, a spark of heat, of anger.  It doesn’t come often, but when it does, the snapping electricity of it startles her.  She tilts Malia’s chin so Malia looks up at her, eyes damp and red, and she cups Malia’s face in her hands.  “Malia, listen to me, okay?  I’ll be right here, right upstairs, and I’ll be thinking about you the entire time, I promise.  Even if I can’t be right next to you, I’ll be with you.”

Malia nods, swallowing hard, trying not to cry.  She’s good at putting on a brave face.  “I’m still scared.”

Kira nods, tucking Malia into her side.  “I know.”

*

Lydia returns in half an hour, arms laden with half a dozen fast-food to-go bags, a drink carrier of milkshakes in one hand.  Malia devours half the food, favoring anything sweet, and Kira picks at a few French fries.  She keeps her on the darkening sky, at the slowly-rising moon.

“Okay,” Lydia says once the sun has gone down completely and Malia’s eyes start to blaze, “let’s go down, Malia.  You can bring your third milkshake.”

Malia whines low in her throat, clutching onto Kira’s hand.  “Please,” she says one last time, and Kira surprises herself by ducking down and pressing a kiss to the crown of Malia’s head.  Malia’s hair smells sweet and natural, likes leaves in autumn, and still feels warm from the sun.

“You’ll be okay,” Kira whispers.  “I promise.”  She leads Malia to the basement door, and Lydia follows, keys in hand.  The chains and collar are already down there, reinforced and ready to use.

*

After the first round of screams, Kira goes outside to the boathouse, the place Malia won’t spend her full moons anymore after Liam claimed it.  She can’t stand hearing Malia in pain.

She eases her toes into the water.  It’s too cool for that time of year; the water sends chills up her spine.  She’s never been much of a swimmer, and the lake looks dark and foreboding in the moonlight, but it’s better than hearing Malia scream in frustration and pain.  Lydia has her cell with her, just in case, and since Kira hadn’t received any word, she figured it was going as well as it possibly could.

 _I’m still here,_ Kira thinks, wishing the back bond was strong enough to transfer emotions through thoughts.  _I won’t leave you, Malia.  I’d never leave you._

She eventually dozes off, curled up in one of Malia’s long-sleeved men’s button-up shirts, toes still in the water, dock damp again her back.

*

When she wakes, its morning, and Malia is curled up next to her.

Kira startles, sitting up and looking over Malia’s body for bruises or signs of harm that are sometimes present after a rough full moon.  Malia is dressed and showered, Lydia’s doing more than likely, and she sleeps peacefully with her head on Kira’s bicep.  One of her legs is dangling off the dock, her bare toes almost touching the surface of the water.

“Malia,” Kira whispers, tucking Malia’s hair behind her ear so she can see her face.  Malia looks _peaceful_ , small and gentle in her sleep, her face serene.  She looks calmer than Kira has ever seen her.  “Malia, wake up.  Let’s go inside.”

Malia grumbles, stirring in Kira’s arms.  Kira can’t get up until Malia does, but Malia remains unconcerned.  “I’m comfy out here,” Malia says, rolling over onto stomach, which presses her and Kira’s bodies flush together.  “Go back to sleep.”

Kira laughs, easing her arm out from under Malia.  “I already slept.  Stay here, I’m going to go get us something to eat.”

Malia just curls up in a ball, grumbling her assent like a perturbed fluffy kitten.

When Kira enters the house through the sliding glass door, she sees Lydia lying on the couch in her pajamas, a wet washcloth over her eyes.  “Don’t say a word,” she says, and Kira obeys.  Kira grabs a thermos of coffee and a box of Lucky Charms from the kitchen, depositing a cup of tea on the coffee table next to Lydia before going back outside.

When she gets back to the boat house, Malia is sitting up on the dock, hair wild, her feet in the water like Kira’s were the night before.  She cranes her neck to look at Kira as she arrives.  “This place smells like you.”

Kira snorts.  “Leave it to me stink up _nature_.”

“No,” Malia says, laughing.  “The dock, the boat house.  It smells like your perfume.”  She kicks her toes, sending an arc of water into the air.  “It sort of makes me want to spend full moons here again.”

Kira sits down next to Malia, handing her the box of cereal.  “I think Liam might have something to say about that.”

Malia hums in distaste.  “He can’t stay in here anymore.  It smells like you, so it’s mine.”

Kira licks her lips, trying to hide her smile.  “That’s sort of creepy, but also sort of sweet.”

Malia takes a bite of cereal.  “When I was starting to calm down this morning, I asked Lydia about the girlfriends thing.  In her opinion, we’re only friends still.”  Malia grabs the coffee and takes a swig, talking with her mouth full.  “I want to change that.”

Kira inhales sharply, her cheeks going pink.  “Are you…are you sure?”

Malia nods, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist.  “I have my dad, and Stiles as my anchor.  I have Scott as my alpha.  I suppose Lydia is my friend.  All I need is a girlfriend.  And I want you to be my girlfriend.”

Kira smiles, winding her fingers through Malia’s.  “I would like to be your girlfriend, too.  But you know that you don’t _need_ a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, right?  If you want one, that’s okay.  But you should never feel like you _need_ one.”

“That’s still hard for me,” Malia says, choosing her words carefully.  “The difference between wanting and needing.  It’s especially hard with you, because it’s both.”

Kira’s chest aches again.  “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never leave you.”

Malia nods.  “I know.” 

For half a second, Kira wonders if Malia is going to kiss her, and she _wants_ it, she wants that kind of intimacy with Malia, she wants to have that sort of girlfriend-girlfriend relationship with her.  She’s allowed to have it. 

But instead, Malia stands up, brushing cereal crumbs off her chest. “Come here.  Let’s dance.”

Kira laughs.  “What’s with you and dancing, anyways?”  She stands up.

Malia instantly takes her in her arms, fingers lacing together at the small of Kira’s back.  Their chests are flush together, Malia’s breasts against Kira’s, and Kira couldn’t slow her breathing if she tried.  “You and Scott danced in here.”

Kira drapes her arms over Malia’s shoulders, allowing Malia to set the music-less pace.  “Does that bother you?”

Malia shakes her head, hair tickling Kira’s face.  She moves her hips slowly, like honey, and Kira copies the movements.  They’re loose and lazy, not so much dancing as just being together, getting to know each other’s movements, learning each other’s bodies.  It isn’t frenzied like in Mexico, it isn’t awkward like at the party. 

It’s _them_ , and it’s perfect.

“I just want this to be ours now,” Malia says, leaning on Kira’s shoulder.  She kisses Kira’s collarbone, and Kira shivers.  “I’m selfish, remember?”

Kira tightens her arms around Malia, holding her close.  “That’s okay sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is a school dance and a little more girlfriend stuff.


End file.
